


Bad Boys

by girlgoneblack



Category: Actor RPF, Australian Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, BAMF Chris Hemsworth, BAMF Tom Hiddleston, Buddy Cop AU, Case Fic, Chris is a douche, Chris is a flirt, Detective Chris Hemsworth, Detective Tom Hiddleston, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Family Issues, First Kiss, Kissing, Love/Hate, M/M, New York City, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Chris Hemsworth, POV Tom Hiddleston, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Tom and Benedict are BFFs, Tom doesn't like anyone, nypd, partners, working together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-05-20 18:29:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14899724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlgoneblack/pseuds/girlgoneblack
Summary: Based onthis GIFsetby the incredibly talented lethal-desires.When his partner is injured, Tom finds himself working with Chris, the new, insufferably arrogant detective, to solve the mysterious case of a murdered woman.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Go check out [the GIFset](http://lethal-desires.tumblr.com/post/174732207528/lethal-desires-buddy-cop-au) by lethal-desires that inspired this work! Their tumblr is simply amazing!
> 
> So, it's my first time writing Hiddlesworth, so please be indulgent. Also, English is not my first language, and this work is not beta-ed, so if you spot some huge mistakes let me know!
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Cheers!

> It's times like these that make me say  
>  Lord, if you see me please come my way  
> 
> 
> _Ooh Aah (My Life Be Like)_ (Grits)

 

If Tom were to honestly speak his mind about that morning, he would have said it was the worst bloody morning of his entire, pathetic, little life. 

He was thirty seven years old, which wasn’t too old, thank you very much, but he felt the weight of a thousand years on his shoulders every time he woke up to go to work. It’s not like he didn’t like his job – he did. He _chose_ to do this job. But it was a difficult one. He saw death and sorrow every day, and what certainly didn’t help was the fact that he had had to arrest and lock up his own stepfather at the very beginning of his career in the police force. It had undermined his ascension in the hierarchy of the precinct, obviously, and thus he had remained in the same position for many years. But then the captain had retired, a new one had arrived, much more lenient, and with an obvious soft spot for Tom, and so his career finally hit off. He loved the work – solving puzzles, thinking for himself, and the rush of adrenaline every time he chased someone or took out his gun. 

So, all come together, he really liked his job, even if it wasn’t the easiest one in the world. 

Well, his mother had always wanted him to become a lawyer. Something more respectable. But it’s not like her opinion ever mattered to him. He hadn’t seen her in many years. 

That fated Monday morning, he woke up after his usual couple hours of sleep, having reviewed his ongoing case for hours the evening before. He took his time drinking his morning tea, sitting in his small kitchen, the only moment of the day during which he relaxed and did basically... _Nothing_ for a few minutes. He took a quick shower and carefully avoided looking at himself in the mirror. He knew he wouldn’t like what he found there.

When he arrived to the precinct after a trip in the busy New York subway, he found it full of people and lively as always. He greeted a couple of persons and made his way to the third floor. There seemed to be a commotion ongoing in the breakroom there, but he didn’t have the time to check what was happening because Matt, a young, aspiring, and flamboyantly gay detective who had started to work with them maybe half a year ago, pulled him aside.

“Hey Tom” he whispered excitedly.

Tom pressed his lips together and raised one eyebrow.

“Matt” he nodded curtly. “What is going on here?” 

“The captain wants to see you” replied Matt, eyeing him with his round, blue eyes. 

Tom raised his second eyebrow, but obediently followed Matt to captain Renner’s office. He knocked at the glass door and the captain made a sign for him to come in. Tom closed the door behind him, noticing that Matt stayed to wait for him just outside. 

Tom frowned a little and turned to the captain. He was a fairly short man, especially compared to Tom, had a big nose and graying hair that seemed to have been of a light brown colour some time ago. 

“Hiddleston” the captain greeted him.

“Captain” said Tom, and wasted no time to start asking questions to satisfy his growing curiosity and frustration. “What is it about, sir? Is it about the Larrington case? I know it’s been some time since we made progress, but I assure you, sir, me and my partner are working on a new lead, and…”

“No, no, nothing about the case, Hiddleston” answered the captain, cutting his speculations short. “I trust your judgement, don’t worry. You’re one of my best detectives. But talking about your partner… Well, it does concern him.”

Tom frowned a little. 

“Benedict? Did something happen?” 

The captain sighed loudly.

“Well, it seems detective Cumberbatch had an unfortunate accident this weekend and broke his leg. You will have a new partner assigned to you. Detective Christopher Hemsworth. He is… He is new here” said the captain, looking a lot like he just swallowed something very sour, and Tom felt the blood drain from his face. “But he is a very capable young man. He was transferred from the 103rd. He will assist you with your case until detective Cumberbatch is able to resume his work.”

Tom couldn’t believe his ears. This had to be a bloody joke. Benedict didn’t even breathe a word of this to him, and he had talked with him on the phone the day before. 

He took a deep breath, feeling his patience slipping away from him.

“Captain, with all due respect, I don’t think…” He chuckled nervously, gathering his words. “I mean, I am perfectly capable of continuing this case alone, I mean…”

“Hiddleston” the captain interrupted him. “I know you and Cumberbatch are good friends, and I know you don’t deal very well with new people, but this is not a matter for discussion. The order comes from above.”

Tom gritted his teeth, and pressed his lips tight together to prevent a snarl. 

“You are to show him all your materials and leads on the Larrington case, and I expect full cooperation from you” continued the captain in a stern tone. 

“Of course, sir” croaked Tom, finding his voice with difficulty. 

The captain eyed him for a moment, his eyes sharp, then relaxed a bit, sighing. 

“You can go now” he said. “I believe he’s in the breakroom, judging by the commotion there.”

Tom only nodded and turned around, heading for the door. He was about to open it when the captain’s voice stopped him in his tracks. 

“Tom?”

Tom turned around, surprised. It was the first time the captain had called him by his first name – or anyone, for that matter. 

“Sir?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

“Good luck” the captain sighed, and Tom swallowed audibly. He left the office, carefully closing the door behind him. 

Matt was still there, waiting for him. He was opening his mouth to say something, but Tom was faster than him.

“You knew about this” he rasped, turning his murderous gaze to Matt. It wasn't a question.

The young man recoiled under his stare. 

“I… Yes, I did. I mean, the captain told me when he asked me to bring you to his office as soon as you arrived” admitted Matt.

Tom’s eyes narrowed to thin slits, and his face twisted into an angry scowl.

“And?” he inquired. 

“And… And what?” stammered Matt, wringing his hands nervously. 

“My new partner” seethed Tom. “How is he?”

Matt’s eyes became even rounder than usual, the fear painted clearly in the pools of light blue.

“Oh, I… I haven’t seen him yet. I was, uhm… I was waiting for you by the elevator, so… So I haven’t had the chance.”

Tom cast him one last dark look, turned around and headed to the breakroom in long strides. He was being unfair to Matt, he knew that, but he was simply _fuming_ and he had no mercy for anyone.

The lively breakroom quieted down a bit when Tom entered it, Matt on his heels. Tom quickly eyed everyone, searching for a new face, and he finally spotted him – leaning against the counter, chatting to three women, was a very tall, athletic man. His skin tan, as well as his shaggy blond hair, shone golden in the dull office lights. His clothes were extremely well-fitting, dark jeans showing muscular thighs and a black leather jacket hugging his wide shoulders and strong arms. And he was wearing sunglasses. Bloody _sunglasses_. On a gray, clouded day. Inside a bloody room.

Tom almost forgot where he was, recovering from the shock, but Matt’s voice brought him back to reality.

“Shit! That’s your new partner?” he squealed excitedly.

“Apparently” answered Tom through gritted teeth. 

“So fine! So, so fine” continued Matt and Tom couldn’t resist the urge to roll his eyes. “I should go say hi. Can you notice my under-eye bags?” he added in a frantic whisper, his elbow connecting with Tom’s ribs. 

Tom winced a bit, throwing a dark look first to Matt, and then to the new guy.

“Sorry” he grumbled, massaging his sore side, “all I can see now is a douchebag.”

As if sensing his disapproving stare, the guy stopped talking and turned his face towards him. His lips immediately stretched into a wide, flirty smile. It took him two long strides to stand directly in front of Tom. He was even more imposing up close, although he must have been only an inch or two taller than Tom. He was much wider, though, his whole body made of powerful muscles.

He took his glasses off in one, practiced motion, revealing the most striking pair of eyes Tom had ever seen. They were blue, blue like the most exotic waters and like the clearest of summer skies, and if it wasn’t for the urge to snort at the whole procedural cop show vibe the sunglasses gave off, Tom would have probably lost himself in those pools of ocean blue. 

The guy – _Christopher_ – let his blue eyes roam Tom’s body, not even bothering to hide the indecency of his heated gaze.

Tom was just opening his mouth to snap at him, to ask if he was quite finished with his little show, but Christopher beat him to it.

“You must be Thomas” he said in a deep, honey-like voice, the thick Australian accent obvious, extending a hand to him. “We finally meet. The girls were just telling me all about you” he added, winking to the three women still standing near the counter.

Tom resisted the urge to wince at his full name. No one ever called him like that. The only person to ever address him like that had been his mother.

“Tom, please” replied Tom, shaking Christopher’s hand. It was big, bigger than his, but soft and warm. “And you must be Christopher.”

“Just call me Chris” the blonde told him, licking his lips, his eyes darkening a bit.

Tom was not a man who got nervous easily, but the scrutiny of his new partner certainly agitated him a bit.

He was saved by Matt, who proceeded to introduce himself, grinning like a fool, and Chris finally let go of Tom’s hand to greet Matt. 

Tom discreetly wiped his hands on his trousers. 

“So, _Tom_ ” grinned Chris, turning to Tom once again. “I gather we’ll be partnering from now on, right?”

“Yes” answered Tom, making his voice carefully neutral. “Come with me, I’ll show you to your desk and we can find an empty conference room to review together the case I’m currently working on.”

“An empty conference room?” chuckled Chris, following him out of the breakroom that was beginning to empty. “Oh, honey, you shouldn’t tempt me.”

Tom nearly tripped at that, his face heating up a notch, and turned to Chris with a snarl plastered on his face.

This was going to be a very long day, and Tom swore to himself he wouldn’t let Benedict hear the end of it once he got ahold of his bloody arse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, first chapter is finished! So, I'm thinking of doing this whole fic in Tom's POV, but I'm hesitating because I love Chris' POV as well. Don't hesitate to comment if you have any suggestions on what you would prefer!
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Cheers!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just finished writing the second chapter so posting it! It's in Chris' POV - I decided to alternate between Tom's and Chris' POV for each chapter, thought it might be more interesting to see the story from two different perspectives. 
> 
> Once again, English is not my first language, and this work is not beta-ed (I didn't even re-read it), so if you spot any mistake, let me know.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Cheers!

> Okay, you think you got a pretty face  
>  But the rest of you is out of place
> 
> _Fox On The Run_ (Sweet)

 

  
The day had started out wonderful. Truly magnificent. And Chris hadn’t thought it could get any better.

His uncle had finally managed to get him out of his stinking and rotting precinct on the outskirts of the city and to get him transferred to the 13th – a nice, little precinct in an incredibly posh neighborhood –, the sun was shining (or maybe not, but at least it wasn’t raining), and on top of that he had been assigned a _murder case_. A real, bloody and gory murder case.

Chris had woken up that morning, feeling that something interesting would finally happen in his life, that his time catching the same carjackers and petty drug dealers over and over again was finished. He was setting out for the big city, after a _whole year_ in that dull and monotonous district. He had never planned on spending this long in the 103rd, but there were no real other opportunities available, so Chris had just waited, regretting ever leaving Australia a bit more as the time passed.

And then, one fated Friday evening, his uncle had finally called him.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite uncle” Chris had mumbled, stirring his pasta in the boiling water, not really caring about what his uncle had to say.

“Chris” his uncle had replied, “it’s so good to hear you.”

“Am I in some kind of trouble?” had asked Chris, raising his eyebrows even if no one could really see him at the moment. “For the Deputy Commissioner of Intelligence and Counterterrorism to call me _in person_ …” he had added in a mocking voice.

His uncle had sighed at the other end of the line.

“I know, I’m sorry, Chris. I’ve been… Really busy, and I know promised to help you… I’m actually calling to make it up to you.”

And that’s how Chris had learnt that some detective in the 13th precinct had injured himself, thus leaving a spot opened, at least until he could return to work – but his uncle had assured him that if Chris proved himself a valuable asset, the captain of the 13th would most probably decide to keep him on the team.

That’s how Chris had ended up, on that fated morning, leaning against the counter in the breakroom, on the 3rd floor of the 13th precinct, chatting to three gorgeous detectives who were swooning over his tan and Australian accent, asking him all kinds of questions about him, and replying to Chris’ enquires about the team, the case and his knew partner.

“Oh, the Larrington case” muttered Natalie, a petite brunette with clever, chocolate brown eyes, when he mentioned the murder he was supposed to be working on. “Yeah, that’s a difficult one. I know they’ve been stuck in the same spot for weeks now.”

“‘ _They_ ’, you mean…” started Chris, but Kat, Natalie’s partner, interrupted him.

“Tom and Benedict, obviously” she giggled, a faint blush spreading on her cheeks.

The third woman, Jaimie, rolled her eyes, seemingly exasperated, but Chris noticed a small smile playing on her lips. She turned to Chris, her short, black bob bouncing slightly as she did.

“They’re the golden duo here” she explained. “They’ve been partners for quite some time now, and I know they’ve been friends for even longer from what I gathered.”

“Tom is the one you’ll be partnering with” added Natalie. “You’re lucky. He always gets the most interesting cases.”

Chris hummed at that. _Interesting_.

“Is there a reason for that?” he asked, careful to sound very neutral.

The three women eyed themselves, not saying a word. Kat was the first one to break the silence.

“Well, he’s wicked smart, that’s for sure” she replied slowly. “But it’s also not really a secret that the captain favors him…”

“Kat!” Jaimie shushed her hurriedly.

Chris raised his eyebrows, but he didn’t have the time to comment on that because Natalie elbowed him in the ribs, pointing her chin at something to his right.

“Your partner’s here, Romeo, so you can ask him all your remaining questions” she said.

Chris turned his head in that direction, his ears barely registering the “ _It’s the taller one_ ” Natalie whispered to him. Two men were standing in the entrance to the breakroom, and all Chris could do for a few beats was to stand there and stare – yes, at the taller one.

The man was all long limbs, his legs interminable, his body slender, lean muscles visible under his dark, long-sleeved t-shirt.

Chris hurriedly pushed himself off the counter and took a few steps forward to stand before his new partner. He took of his sunglasses, the colors and the light almost blinding his sensitive eyes, and took his time to inspect the man – _Tom_.

He was almost as tall as Chris, which, in itself, was quite impressive, but nowhere near as large. His whole body was almost _delicate_ , lithe, and looked so breakable.

Chris let his eyes roam the man’s face – pale, symmetrical, sharp cheekbones that could cut through glass, thin, red lips, a straight nose, and light blue eyes, oh so very _light_. With a speck a green, actually, noticed Chris after a few moments. And maybe gray? Or brown?

Dark, blonde curls, with a ginger highlight here and there, framed the man’s perfect face, which sported the faintest hint of a stubble.

 _Tom_ looked like a Greek marble statue, all his features so pale and perfect, and yet reflected all the colors of the rainbow.

Chris realized he had been staring only when he met Tom’s annoyed glare.

“You must be Thomas” he said quickly, hoping his voice was steady and didn’t betray his embarrassment.

And it was only when _Tom_ (he did insist on that) replied him, his voice slightly rough, each word rolling off his tongue with a heavy, British accent that made Chris’ ears ring and his back shiver and his whole skin prickle, that he realized that his wonderful day just got a whole lot better.

* * *

“…only lead for now, but he had an alibi, and… _Are you even listening to me!?_ ”

The snappy voice brought Chris back from his reverie and he blinked a few times, his eyes finally focusing on the annoyed snarl plastered on Tom’s face. He blinked a few times, and he apparently looked very stupid and lost because the already irritated expression on his new partner’s face turned even more angry.

“'Course I am, don’t worry, mate” Chris quickly answered.

Tom’s thin lips twisted in some kind of weird grimace. He looked like he was having a great, internal struggle – and Chris reckoned he was most probably hesitating between remaining polite and just snapping at Chris.

“Look” Tom finally said, his voice strained but pretty neutral, “first of all, don’t call me… ‘ _Mate_ ’. I most certainly am not your _mate_. Second, if we want _this_ ” he made a vague gesture between them “to work, you’re gonna have to cooperate a bit. Like, if I’m explaining something to you, something about _the case_ , then please listen, because I hate repeating myself.”

A brief thought passed through Chris’ mind, a thought about Tom looking positively hot and adorable when he was annoyed and bossy, but he quickly dismissed it and stood up from his chair.

Tom eyed his every movements warily, following his gestures like a hawk as Chris slowly approached the whiteboard on which Tom had pinned pictures, scraps of newspapers, notes and documents, all concerning the murder of Mrs. Larrington.

“Sure thing, hon, don’t worry” Chris winked at him, his lips stretching in a toothy grin.

Tom rolled his eyes in an almost dramatic manner.

“And drop the cute, little pet names, please” he added.

Chris ignored him, turning to the whiteboard, but he catalogued in a corner of his mind that Tom’s British accent became heavier when he was angry. He quickly scanned all the information before his eyes, his gaze eventually stopping on a photo from the crime scene. It showed a relatively pretty, middle-aged woman with brown, wavy hair, dressed in a fancy blazer and a matching skirt. Her eyes were wide open, her face pale and her mouth agape. She was lying on what looked a very expensive, beige carpet. Well, not so expensive now, as it was stained in dark blood.

“So, woman murdered in her office…” started Chris, but Tom cut him off:

“ _Found_ in her office.”

Chris looked at him, raising his eyebrows.

“You just said she was murdered there, too” he said.

“Yes, but we concluded that after analyzing some evidence. First, she was found there” corrected Tom, talking slowly as if Chris was a really thick child.

Chris couldn’t believe his ears.

“Yes, I know, Jesus. You British people and your…”

He refrained from finishing that sentence, squirming a bit under Tom’s murderous stare. He cleared his throat and continued.

“So, yeah, Mrs. Larrington, age forty-seven, lawyer at Burke & Parsons, was found on the morning of January, 17th in her office, by the cleaning lady, Mrs. Goncalves. She was working late that night, going over some of her cases, and was killed around two in the morning by blunt trauma on the back of her neck…” Chris quickly darted his eyes, looking for the coroner’s report. “‘ _Caused a spinal cervical fracture, the spinal cord was completely severed between C2 and C3_ ’” he read.

Chris paused a second, turning to Tom, who was eyeing him with a measuring gaze.

“Jesus, it had to be one hell of a blow if the spinal cord…”

“ _Exactly_ ” said Tom.

His lips stretched into a little smile, and however weak it was, Chris still counted it as a win.

“Do you have any idea what kind of force was necessary to cause such an injury?” inquired Tom, his eyes glinting with excitement. “This was the murder weapon” he added, and turned his back to Chris to fish something out of the evidence box he had brought with him to the conference room they were in.

He held up a rather large, golden statuette wrapped in a plastic evidence bag in his hand. It represented a woman, blindfolded, holding a scale in one hand and a sword in the other one. The heavy, marble pedestal had dried blood splattered all over it, as well as a few words engraved on the front.

“It’s some prize she won a few months ago for solving some big case, or whatever it is lawyers do” explained Tom, his tone turning slightly bitter at the mention of lawyers.

Chris frowned at that but didn’t make any comment, and instead examined the trophy and took it from Tom to weigh it in his hand.

“It’s really heavy” he observed. “So it was a man, most probably. Isn’t your main suspect a guy?” he asked, raising his eyebrows in question.

Tom sneered at that and pointed wordlessly at something on the whiteboard, behind Chris’ back. When he turned around, Chris was looking straight at a picture of a scrawny, thin man, who must have been around fifty years old. The guy had a few graying hairs on his otherwise bald head, and heavy, thick glasses that hid half of his face.

“ _Oh_ , I see” Chris muttered, smirking. “Well, this is gonna be interesting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a few things I wanted to say about this story:
> 
> 1\. I would really like to update this regularly, like, once a week maybe, but I'm an extremely lazy person (no kidding), so I'm not promising anything (sorry T_T)...
> 
> 2\. As you may have noticed by now, this story is set in the lovely city of NY. I am NOT from New York, nor am I living there, I've been there only once in my life, so every place I'll talk about in the future is gonna be pure Wikipedia and/or my imagination.
> 
> 3\. I don't have any idea how real police or murder investigation actually works, so please excuse if some stuff just sounds like taken straight from a procedural cop show. Again, I've done some research on the internet, and that's all.
> 
> 4\. I have no idea whatsoever about what kind of force is necessary to cause a specific type of injury or to kill a person (no, that did not sound super creepy at all), so please excuse any inconsistencies, now and in the future.
> 
> Anyway, lots of love, and thank you for reading this.
> 
> Cheers!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third chapter is up! Enjoy, guys!
> 
> This is not beta-ed and/or re-read by anyone, so forgive the eventual mistake. I'll re-read it when I have more time and make the necessary adjustments.
> 
> Cheers!

> And just in time  
>  In the right place  
>  Suddenly I will play my ace
> 
> _Eyes On Fire_ (Blue Foundation)

 

“What do you mean, _you forgot to tell me_!?” snapped Tom, gripping his phone tighter in his hand and barely refraining himself from throwing it to the ground.

“Well, okay, maybe I just... _Withheld_ this one information from you” answered Benedict’s voice on the other end of the line.

“This ‘ _one_ ’ information? Which one?” seethed Tom. “The fact that you broke your leg? The fact that you wouldn’t continue this case with me? Or the fact that I would be getting a new bloody _partner_?”

Tom heard Benedict sigh through the speaker and wished for only one thing at that moment: to be just next to him so he could smash his head. Or punch his teeth out. Anything.

“Look, I didn’t want to irritate you, you see yourself how you take those kind of things...”

“I would take them a whole lot better if I knew about them, to begin with!” Tom cried out.

“Tom, I’m sorry, okay?” said Benedict, and he sounded so genuine that some of Tom’s anger evaporated right there and then. “I should have told you. And I’m sorry I’m leaving you alone on this one. Just know that if you need anything, you can always talk to me.”

Tom didn’t reply, biting his lower lip. It actually was the first case ever he would have to work on without Benedict. They had been partners ever since Tom became a detective.

“So how is your new partner?” continued Benedict as he wasn’t saying anything, and Tom could practically hear his eyebrows wiggling.

Tom chuckled at that.

“God, you don’t want to know.”

“Tell me about it” replied Benedict with a grin in his voice.

Tom rolled his eyes, feeling annoyed once again at the thought of his new, incompetent partner.

“His name is Chris, he’s Australian” Benedict wolf-whistled at that but Tom just ignored him, “and he’s a bloody menace. He’s such a prat. _And_ he’s extremely rude.”

Benedict chuckled, the sound full of mirth and fondness.

“I can only imagine how offended your British arse must be” he said.

“You’re British too” deadpanned Tom.

“Yeah, but you’re just so... Well, you know” laughed Benedict after thinking for a moment.

Tom sighed and glanced at his watch. It was after one.

“Well, I have to go. Lunch break is over, and I have to get back to work. You know, a case to solve.”

“How long you gonna rub it in my face? I get it, I screwed up. I’m off this case, and it’s one of the most interesting we’ve gotten in some time” muttered Benedict.

“I still don’t get how you broke your leg” snickered Tom.

“I told you, I _slipped_ and _fell_.”

“Yeah, no, I still don’t get it” laughed Tom, hearing the annoyed voice of his friend.

“Just... Get to work” snapped Benedict, then added with a gentler and more tender voice: “Take care of yourself, okay?”

Tom pressed his lips tight together and replied, his voice full of bitterness:

“You know I always do.”

“Yeah...” answered Benedict.

He sounded like he wanted to say something more but he just added:

“Solve me a case, Hiddleston.”

Tom smiled at that and ended the call. He sighed loudly, dragging his hand on his face. He stood a moment longer in the quiet corridor, breathing in the synthetic smell of the apparently fresh wall paint, then headed back to the main open-space.

He found Chris chatting up to Natalie, leaning against her desk. They were both giggling at something when Tom approached them, and he had the uncomfortable impression that he was intruding on some very private conversation. He hated being rude, even to some annoying idiot that had ruined the whole day – scratch that, the whole upcoming _month_ – for him.

Chris’ face immediately lit up with a wolfish grin when he noticed Tom.

“Tom!” he greeted him, turning away from Natalie. “Where were you during lunch?”

“Talking” Tom replied dryly. “Let’s get to work, we’ve got plenty to do.”

“Sure” answered Chris with a wide smile.

He hopped down from Natalie’s desk and headed to the conference room they had claimed for the day. Tom sighed heavily and smiled tightly at Natalie, followed by a polite “Natalie” and a nod of the head. The young woman blushed a dark, pink color and nodded back, and Tom followed Chris to the empty room. He locked the door behind him and turned to his new partner, who was already sprawled in a chair, his long legs extended before him. He had his ever-present, self-assured smirk plastered on the face.

_Just get it over with, Hiddleston._

“So, like I was saying before lunch, our main suspect is a man, Stephan Bartowski” Tom jumped right into the heart of the subject. “He’s a lawyer from a rival law firm, Dankner Milstein, and according do some colleagues of both the suspect and the victim, Anne Larrington snatched some important case from him some time ago, and ever since then they’ve been going at it teeth and claws.”

“So he had a motive” interjected Chris. “But I don’t think he killed her. Hell, I never met him, but judging from his picture he’s not the strongest guy out there.”

“He has no solid alibi, though” pointed out Tom, carefully observing Chris for any reaction. “Was in some exclusive nightclub with an escort. This kind of alibi doesn’t mean anything. _And_ a partial print of his thumb was found on the murder weapon.”

“All circumstantial” said Chris.

“The fingerprint?” inquired Tom, raising his eyebrows.

“He could have left in anytime” replied Chris without missing a beat. “You told me they were rivals, him and Mrs. Larrington. I bet they paid each other some courtesy visits all the time, to argue or insult each other.”

Tom didn’t reply anything. Chris had hit the jackpot. Mr. Bartowski had told him and Benedict a pretty much similar story during his interrogation: that he went to see Anne Larrington a week before her murder to argue over the trophy she had received, and that he had taken it in his hand out of anger.

In the short while since they had met each other, Chris had proved himself to be less of a fool than Tom had suspected him to be, and that had actually surprised him.

That didn’t make him any less arrogant and insufferable.

“So what do you suggest?” asked Tom, genuinely curious about what Chris would say.

Chris frowned a bit and the usual grin faded away from his face.

“I guess we could go talk to him one more time? But I’d be more interested in Mr. Larrington, actually.”

“He has a cast-iron alibi” replied Tom.

“Does he, now” muttered Chris, darting his eyes over the whiteboard.

Tom stood there, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed on his chest, carefully observing Chris. He began to suspect that, underneath the self-assured exterior of a complete moron, there was maybe a smart person, passionate about their job.

He realized after a moment that no one had said anything in a while, and that he had been _staring_ at Chris. His gaze focused on the blonde man. He was looking straight at Tom, a glinting spark and an unreadable expression in his eyes. Tom felt a prickling heat on the back of his neck. He was dangerously close to blushing.

“What?” he snapped before he could stop himself.

Chris schooled his face into a very innocent air.

“You were the one who was staring, snowflake” he said, holding up his hands and shrugging slightly.

Tom grunted and dragged a hand down his face.

“I was not” he answered, forcing his voice to remain calm and neutral. “And I told you to drop the pet names.”

Chris’ lips stretched into a wide grin, his perfect white teeth flashing like sparkles.

“I’d like to maybe see the crime scene” he continued as if nothing happened. “Interrogate the suspect once more, also the husband. There’s something fishy about his testimony” he added, waving a sheet of paper in his hand.

Tom sighed and pushed himself from the wall.

“Alright, let’s go then.”

 

* * *

 

“You’re letting me _drive_?”

Tom raised his eyebrow, the car keys dangling from his fingers, Chris’ jaw probably needing to be swiped off the floor.

“Why is that so surprising?” he asked.

Chris closed his mouth and rubbed his nape, looking to the side. The expression he was wearing could have almost passed as _embarrassed_.

“Well, you seem to be kind of a control-freak” he muttered.

Tom pressed his lips together and didn’t reply anything. He just shoved the car keys into Chris’ hand, opened the passenger door and got into the front seat. Chris stood a whole minute, watching the keys with a gobsmacked look on his face, then went around the front of the car to get into the driver seat.

He started the engine and drove out of the underground parking onto the busy street, a bit too fast for Tom’s taste.

“Careful, it’s a service car” he mumbled.

Chris threw him a side-glance, his smirk back in place.

“Are you afraid of driving? Fast cars, maybe?” he chuckled.

 Tom rolled his eyes.

“If I were afraid of _cars_ , I wouldn’t be in the police” he snapped.

“Then maybe you _can’t drive_?” continued Chris without missing a beat.

Tom looked at him, wondering if the bloke was serious. When Chris didn’t burst out laughing after a few moments, Tom finally replied.

“You do know that you’re obliged to have a driving license to join the police, right?”

Chris didn’t say anything and Tom sighed heavily.

 _Goodness gracious_. 

“Then why did you let me drive?” asked Chris, sounding genuinely curious.

Tom barely prevented a grimace on his face.

“I’m just not particularly fond of it” he answered. “And I still trust you enough to drive, it’s not like you’re going to crash us on purpose. At least, I hope not” he added.

Chris chuckled at that, taking a turn right and basically running a red light. Tom opened his mouth to say something sarcastic, but Chris beat him to it.

“Why _don’t_ you like driving?”

Tom looked straight ahead, watching the people hurrying in all directions, crossing the street, talking on the phone, _laughing_. He couldn’t even remember a time when he was as happy as those strangers on the sidewalk.

He wasn’t about to tell Chris the truth – talk about his mildly tragic past, about his father’s death in a car accident when Tom had been barely five, how it had scared him away from any automotive form of transportation for the years to follow, about his mother’s constant displeasure with him after a disappointing marriage to a man she barely knew, the endless pressure she put on Tom to always be the best, because hell, he was the only man in the family, now… And yada, yada, yada.

He wasn’t _sad_ when talking about this anymore. The level of tragedy in his life was maybe worth a five out of ten. No, a four. A lot of people had worse fates than his. He just didn’t care for people to know about it. It was very much personal. The only one who knew the whole story was Benedict. Tom wasn’t even sure that he did, now that he thought of it.

“Well?” asked Chris after a while of silence, turning his head to Tom.

“I just don’t like it” Tom quickly said. “No particular reason. And watch where you’re going, for Christ’s sake!”

 

* * *

 

They arrived at the Burke & Parsons offices ten minutes later, after a relatively normal and safe drive, if it wasn’t for the old lady Chris had almost run over because she was taking too long to cross the street.

They entered the squeaky-clean, bright, shining lobby and headed for the front desk to ask someone to let them in the office.

The pretty, ginger receptionist recognized Tom right away. He had already been to see the crime scene a few times with Benedict, and it had always been the same, long-haired woman who had sat behind the counter. She flashed him a flirty smile and got up from her chair when they approached the marble desk.

“Detective!” she greeted him.

“Martha” Tom forced himself to stretch his lips in the semblance of a smile.

Martha was a very loud person, and way too lively for Tom’s taste.

“Where’s your usual partner?” asked Martha, eyeing Chris with curiosity, as well as clear interest.

“Unable to perform his job at the moment, I’m afraid” replied Tom. “This is detective Hemsworth, his temporary replacement” he added, turning towards Chris.

Chris cast him an almost hurt look but quickly schooled his expression and smiled his most polite grin at Martha.

“Pleasure to meet you, miss.”

Tom raised an eyebrow at that. He had thought his new, blonde, Australian, well-built partner would at least flirt a bit with a gorgeous woman like Martha – that he would all but behave in a polite, appropriate and normal manner.

Martha had apparently thought that as well because her expression turned slightly disappointed and she just muttered something under her nose before letting them through the turnstiles.

They stuffed themselves into the elevator full of people (mostly middle-aged men in suits), and Chris pressed the floor button thanks to a weird arm contortion.

Tom pressed his lips tight together and tried not to breathe too much, the heavy, expensive cologne that saturated the air irritating his nostrils. He gulped relatively clean oxygen avidly once they got out on the twelfth floor.

“It’s this way” he said, leading Chris through the maze of offices and corridors, carefully avoiding all men in suits.

“You don’t like lawyers, do you?” suddenly asked Chris after they turned around an umpteenth corner.

“We’re cops” deadpanned Tom. “We’re not _supposed_ to like lawyers.”

“Yeah, but you hold some kind of additional grudge against them” observed Chris.

Tom glared at him, his eyes thinning into mere slits.

“It doesn’t matter” he snapped, arriving in front of Mrs. Larrington’s office and opening the door in one swift motion. “I just don’t like their idiotic suits.”

Chris chuckled, entering the room after him.

“You’re a bad liar” he smirked, and Tom barely refrained himself from laughing at him and telling Chris off, admitting he was an excellent liar, actually, spilling all the secrets he had accumulated during all those years. “You totally look like the type who would wear an expensive suit. I bet those interminable legs of yours would look smoking hot in a suit” he added, winking and grinning cheekily.

Tom gritted his teeth.

“God, you’re insufferable” he snarled. “Are you like that with everyone?”

“Only you” answered Chris. “You’re cute when you’re angry” he giggled. _Giggled_. And then immediately made a face like he regretted saying that.

Tom felt a pang if pity for him, and he didn’t understand where it came from.

“Look, I’m not...” he started, stumbling on his words, but then gave up and just muttered: “Let’s just get to work.”

They spent the next few hours going through Mrs. Larrington’s stuff, or at least what was left of it after the police had embarked a good part of it.

“You know we probably won’t find anything new here, right?” asked Tom after going through another old law book covered in dust.

“People always hide interesting stuff where you least expect them” muttered Chris, his eyebrows frowning at some random page.

As he was putting the book back on the huge pile on the desk, a small piece of paper slipped out of it and landed at their feet.

“Aha!” Chris shouted in victory.

Tom rolled his eyes.

“A scrap of paper” he deadpanned. “That you probably wouldn’t have noticed if it didn’t fall out.”

Chris pretty much ignored him and snatched the piece of paper from the ground.

“It’s a list” he said.

“Of numbers” mumbled Tom to himself rather than to anyone else, looking over Chris’ shoulder. “Phone numbers.”

There were about fifteen carefully written phone numbers, with no name or other indication whatsoever. Tom picked up the book it had fallen out of.

“ _Les Liaisons Dangereuses_ ” he read. “Well, that’s telling.”

“What’s that?” asked Chris.

“Don’t you know what the book is about?”

Chris just shook his head.

“Well, the title literally means ‘Dangerous Connections’” explained Tom. “Basically, it’s set during the French _Renaissance_ , and it’s about a man and a woman who compete over who will have more affairs and lovers and who exchange letters about their conquests.”

“Nice” chuckled Chris, and Tom just pressed his lips together, deciding to ignore the comment.

“You do realize what this mean, I hope” he inquired instead, waving the list in front of Chris’ nose.

Chris frowned his eyebrows, squinting at the scrap of paper. When he didn’t reply after a few beats, Tom sighed heavily.

“Those phone numbers” he answered his own question, “I bet you my badge that they’re her lovers’.”

Chris glanced at him, a small glint appearing in his eyes.

“ _Nice_ ” he repeated. “Told you we’d find something” he then added, winking at Tom, and Tom couldn’t help a small smile forming on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... A few things about this chapter.
> 
> First, it's longer than the previous chapters and it's around the length all the chapters are gonna be from now on. I try to make them the same length so Tom and Chris have the same amount of POV.
> 
> Second, I'm adding a Slow Burn tag to this fic, because it _is_ gonna be slow, and the plot is as important as the love story, in my opinion... Well, maybe not _exactly_ as important, but it still plays a big role and I'm pretty proud of the story I came up with. In short, I don't want this fic to be pure PWP.
> 
> Third, I just wanted to apologize for the long time it took me to post this chapter. It was the end of the year, I had exams, etc., and I started my internship at the hospital yesterday and I am _beat_. It's so exhausting, I'm spending more than eight hours a day in the hospital, non stop walking and standing... But I'll really try to post once a week from now on.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading, and let me now what you think in the comments!
> 
> Cheers!


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